


Tony Meets "Charly"

by TheMoo



Category: NCIS
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:47:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMoo/pseuds/TheMoo
Summary: Season Two, post S.W.A.K.  Poor Tony endures fever yet again but the toll it takes on him is of a different kind. Shameless Tony bashing, I admit. But with two sides: some angst and some exploring just what makes a person who he/she/they really is/are.  It's a few years late, dear friends, but The Moo is new to this particular fandom. Just feeling my way here.





	Tony Meets "Charly"

**Author's Note:**

> I had no patience for medical accuracy, just wanted to play around with the people and the feelings. Ducky the scientist talks in Celsius; the paramedics in Fahrenheit. The Moo herself being a Canadian, but somewhat of an old one - I think in both.

“Anybody heard from Tony?” Gibbs asked. He looked up from the sheaf of papers he, Abby and Ducky were conferring over on his desk, to check the clock on his monitor. It was twenty minutes past Tony’s usual arrival time, a not unheard of occurrence, but Tony was usually careful to come in on time on any Monday morning following a vacation.

“He’d call you before any of us, Boss,” Tim called across the office.

“Unless he’s ashamed,” Caitlin threw in.

“Probably a harmless delay. Too soon to be worried, Jethro.” Ducky observed, without raising his head from the reports before them.

As though on cue, Tony walked in. He wobbled slightly between the office door and his desk. “Sorry, Boss. Late. I think.” 

Tony remained standing at his desk, albeit unsteadily, holding on to the edge. “Gosh, it’s cold in here. Why’s it so cold in here?” He looked around the room, gathering everyone’s eyes, then looked, unfocused, towards the ceiling. “It was cold in Puerto Vallarta. What’s up with that?” He turned to look at Caitlin. “Cold on the plane. Cold in my apartment. Now it’s too cold in here.”

He turned his gaze to Gibbs. “Can’t we afford heat in here, Boss?”

Despite his complaints about cold, Tony’s brow was covered in sweat and his face was flushed.

Inclining his head towards Tony, who was still standing, swaying, at his desk, Gibbs said to Ducky, “Duck, do we send this boy home sick?”

Ducky detached from the group around Gibbs’ desk and came to where Tony was standing. 

“Sit down, Anthony.”

“Make me,” declared the younger man, with a look at once belligerent and befuddled.

Gibbs got up and went behind Tony. He pressed down on both of Tony’s shoulders and Tony sank into his chair. Gibbs had to keep hold of Tony to keep his chair from rolling away. 

Ducky bent down to the level of Tony’s face.

“Agent, don’t misunderstand what I am about to do.” The old man leaned towards Tony and pressed his lips against Tony’s forehead, briefly, as though kissing him on the brow. Then, he straightened up again.

“My grandma used to do that,” Tim observed.

Ducky said, “No, we are not sending him home. Anthony, can you tell me how many days you have been feeling cold?”

Tony’s head was turned towards Ducky, but his eyes darted back and forth. “Friday. Maybe Thursday. Dunno.”

Ducky began issuing orders.

“Abigail, go down to my laboratory and fill my largest tub with water. About 15 degrees Celsius. The temperature needn’t be exact. Tepid. We don’t want to shock his system. Timothy, call an ambulance. Advise them we have a patient with a high fever for at least three days. Caitlin,go find some ice and bring it to the lab. Try the Director’s office.”

“Ice? But you said not to shock him.” Caitlin protested.

“I can’t hold his head under water long enough for it to be efficacious. We need to cool his brain down. I’d say his fever was at least one hundred and four Fahrenheit. Risk of brain damage. Or worse.”  
Last of all he addressed Gibbs. “It falls on us, Jethro, to get this agent to his awaiting bath.”

“Done,” said Gibbs. “Up we go, Di Nozzo.” He swing Tony around in his chair. With one hand he pulled down on Tony’s wrist and with another he reached down and grabbed one of Tony’s legs and hefted the young man into a fireman’s lift. He hurried off to the morgue with his burden, with Ducky following along behind.

************** 

Abby had the tub about a quarter filled with water by the time the men arrived. Gibbs dumped Tony into the tub, causing the water to rise to about half with displacement. Tony slid down, and Gibbs grabbed his head to stop it from going under the water and held on, unceremoniously, to Tony’s neck and ears.

“Dunk his head once,” Ducky instructed. “Not for too long, obviously.”

Gibbs did so. Tony had been sprawled in the water, unresisting, but at this indignity he tossed his head back and forth like a startled puppy. He shook water on Abby, who recoiled instinctively.

“Keep filling, Abigail.” Ducky said, with which order Abby complied.

“What about his clothes?” she asked.

“I imagine those that are not washable will be ruined,” Ducky said. “His shoes, certainly.”

“I mean . . .” here the woman lowered her voice slightly “ . . . shouldn’t we undress him?”

“Well, if that’s something you think you would enjoy, I don’t imagine it would do Anthony any harm,” Ducky said, wryly.

Chastened, Abby kept filling, but she was not finished talking. “Ducky, why aren’t you taking his temperature? I mean – like – with a thermometer.” 

“Knowing the exact temperature wouldn’t have changed the action we needed to take,” Ducky replied. “I could tell enough to know his temperature was dangerously high. ‘A difference that makes no difference is no difference’, which is a quote Anthony himself would likely attribute, erroneously, to Spock, if he were lucid. It was, in fact, first said by William James.”

“Dangerously high?” Gibbs repeated.

“If it has been going on as long as he says, there is a risk of brain damage. Or death.”

“Tony’s gonna diiiiiiiie!” Abby gasped.

Speaking for the first time since being lifted and carried away, Tony echoed her words. “Tony’s gonna diiiiiiiiiiiie!” Then he went on, muttering, “Tony’s gonna die. . . Again . . . I hate that. . . Don’t wanna go back to Bethesda. . . Blue lights . . . Cate’s got a cold. . . “

Caitlin herself interrupted his babbling by rushing into the lab with a large plastic bag filled with ice cubes and shouting “Got it.”

“Good,” said Ducky. “Jethro, would you be good enough to hold that ice against the top of the agent’s head. And Caitlin, you can take over supporting his neck; don’t let him fall too far into the water.”

Then Tony’s back arched and his arms and legs went flailing. 

"Jethro, Steady his head! Abigail wedge something into his mouth if you can! Jethro and Caitlin, one leg each. I’ll get his arms. Let’s keep him from drowning”

The team remained thus engaged, restraining Tony as he convulsed, until Timothy led the team of paramedics into the laboratory and they took over. 

A quick injection stopped the convulsions and Tony was loaded up and covered with cooling blankets in short order. One paramedic put a thermometer briefly into Tony’s ear and announced. “One-oh-three. After how long in the water?”

“A few minutes, no more than five,” Ducky answered.

“Then it must have been well over one-oh-five to begin with. Let’s go. Who’s riding along?”

“Me,” said Ducky. “Although I would have liked a chance to change into dry clothes.”

“Wrong,” said Gibbs.

“He wouldn’t like a chance to change?” Tim said.

“He’s not leaving. I’ll let Tony go, since his life is in danger. But the rest of us have to be checked out for pathogens.” There was the barest hint of annoyance in his otherwise deadpan tone. “Again.”

With the relief of tension knowing that Tony was being cared for, the team began to think about themselves. Protests welled up.

“Sorry, people. Dem’s the breaks.”

Ducky insisted. “This is most likely a Mexican bug. I don’t think the rest of us are in danger. Let’s have Bethesda check out the rest of us as a precaution. They can notify Atlanta once we know, if there is anything TO know. There’s no white powder this time, Jethro. Hopefully just a vacation gone wrong.”

“Sorry, Ducky. Letting Tony go is already a breach in protocol. Nobody else until we have answers.”

************** 

Answers were not long in coming. The bug was indeed a Mexican one and had Tony been treated with antibiotics right away the consequences would likely have been minor. But bravado and misplaced feelings of manliness had been the young man’s undoing. 

As Ducky observed to Gibbs, as the two men sat taking coffee in the cafeteria of the Bethesda Medical Centre, “This whole need to deny danger – that’s what makes an affective agent. Although admittedly it is not conducive to good health.”

Gibbs said nothing. He just stared into his Styrofoam cup, the coffee in it untouched.

“He’s still alive, Jethro,” Ducky insisted.

“Brain damaged. Never work as an agent again.”

“He may. Recovery is possible.”

Gibbs looked up.

“Likely?”

“Possible,” Ducky said.

“Well, there you go,” said Gibbs, briefly as always.

“Does he know?” Ducky asked.

“I’ll tell him. When he’s feeling a little stronger. He should hear it from me. Not from a stranger.”

“You’re a good friend,” Ducky said. “He has that.”

Gibbs rose from the table. “I’m going up to say hello. Are you coming?”

“I’ll go later. You don’t want him to know any of the test results, then?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve told the doctors on the floor and I’d appreciate it if you make sure it’s noted in his chart for everyone to see. Nobody but his commanding officer is to discuss any results with him.” 

Gibbs headed out towards Tony’s hospital room.

He was gone before Ducky had a chance to mention that Gibbs was no longer Anthony’s commanding officer. Anthony was already on medical leave pending reassignment. Then Ducky realized that pointing this out would help neither man cope with the new reality.

************* 

Gibbs called a huddle of the remaining team the next morning. Ducky did not sit in the “campfire” with them, but hung back, leaning against Gibbs’ desk. 

Gibbs cleared his throat before starting. “I’ll be talking to Tony this afternoon. He may have told you that he’s undergone a battery of tests. Mental acuity. Emotional stability. Today I’m going to explain the results of the testing to him. Tony will not be coming back to NCIS. The brain damage is too severe for him to function here.”

Spines stiffened and looks of concern spread across all faces but Gibbs’ and Ducky’s. Abby’s eyes began to well with tears. 

“Between then and now, if any of you call him – I need you to say nothing about this.” Gibbs repeated his earlier words to Ducky. “He should hear it from me.”

Gibbs waited for this news to settle in and for the questions, which were not long in coming.

Tim asked “What’s he going to be doing?”

“The Navy has a work accommodation program for injured staff. They’re finding him a job in one of the Naval Administration buildings.”

“Administration? Have to be brain damaged to do that job,” Tim said and they all chuckled at a comment they knew to be inappropriate, but needed for release.

“Not in Administration. In an administration building. He’ll be part of the maintenance team.”

Caitlin spoke for them, “Tony’s going to be a janitor.” There was disbelief in her voice. “Tony.”

“And it will up to all of us to be supportive when we speak to him.”

“No one should be ashamed of honest work,” said Ducky, from his spot behind them. They all turned to stare. “Keep in mind: Any of you could lose your lives on the job on any given day. You could lose your legs. You could lose an arm. If you lost your lives, we’d put your picture on the wall. If you lost limbs, we’d put you behind a desk.”

The old man took a step towards them, “Anthony has lost some of his intellect. It’s a terrible loss, to be sure, but he’s entitled to the same dignity as though he lost his ability to walk around.”

Gibbs took over the speech. “HQ doesn’t quite know what to do with him, to be honest. HR either. They are more used to having us shot or blown up They’re feeling their way. We’ve had sailors and marines hit over the head and had their brains re-arranged. Plenty of jobs aboard ship or on active duty to accommodate them, but Tony. He’s a bit of an unusual case.”

Gibbs forced a smile. 

“You’ve visited him. You’ve all seen that he’s changed. As his friends, we want him to help him be comfortable with the change. Not make him feel self-conscious.”

Gibbs wound down his speech, not sure what else to add.

Through tears now falling freely Abby asked “But . . . is he still Tony?”

They all looked around, to one another, to Gibbs, to Ducky, not sure what to do with this key question.

Ducky spoke.

“I could say that, in a way, he’ll be more Tony than he ever was.”

“Explain that!” Tim demanded.

“I mean, he will be Tony as he was meant to be: without the swagger, without the clownishness, without all that forced machismo. A little more humble. A little more pure.”

“And to put philosophy aside for a moment,” Gibbs said, “I’ve promised Tony that we will all be having lunch together three weeks from Friday. Give him a chance to settle into his new job. As Tony would say, be there or be square.”

“Would have said,” Tim said under his breath, but they all heard.

Gibbs got up from his chair and head-slapped Tim, as he was accustomed to doing with Tony. “An example of a comment we don’t need, McGee.”

***************** 

It was a difficult interview and while Gibbs wasn’t looking forward to it, he had come to terms with the fact that it had to be endured. Tony needed to know what his future was going to be like. At least his short-term future. Medium term? Long term? The medical staff were non-committal. 

Gibbs had settled all the key issues with Di Nozzo senior. Tony’s father had agreed with the division of duties Gibbs had proposed. Gibbs suspected that ‘Senior’ was relieved to have someone else make the tough calls. No, there was no longer any reason to put off spelling things out for Tony. He was slated to leave hospital that day.

It hadn’t even occurred to Tony to wonder where he would go from the hospital or what he would do. Gibbs had explained that ‘everything is taken care of’ and the younger man had accepted it. It had torn at Gibbs’ heart to hear Tony say, “Okay, Boss” and see Tony smile with relief.

Gibbs had reserved a small conference room. Half an hour before his hospital release, he led Tony, now fully dressed for the first time in a week, to the designated room. As they settled in, Gibbs noted that Tony had lost some weight, but was looking otherwise fit. His jeans and polo shirt hung a little loosely over his tall frame, but he no longer looked sick. Gibbs waved at an office chair on one side of a small table. Tony took the seat and Gibbs sat down opposite. Tony folded his hands and rested them patiently on top of the desk. It was a gesture so ‘un-Tony-like’ that Gibbs nearly lost his nerve. Gibbs had a file folder with documents but had not referred to them yet. Tony had not asked about them.

“Tony. We’re leaving the hospital soon. Your bag is all packed. I’ll be driving you back to your apartment. Your father’s going to be living with you for a little while. I need you to understand: it’s just until we’re sure you will be all right on your own. Okay?”

Gibbs waited for Tony to say, “Okay, Boss.”

Gibbs took a deep breath. “So, here’s the thing. I’m not going to be your boss anymore. You’re going to be having a new job. A new boss. You’ll be reporting to a different building entirely. Your dad will take you on the first day. More if you need, until you get used to it.”

Tony sat back. Gibbs’ heart nearly broke at the look of hurt on the younger man’s face. “I’m not coming back to NCIS?”

“No, Tony. I’m sorry. You . . . you remember all the tests you had.”

Tony nodded uneasily.

“Those were to test your brain function. After the fever. Tony, that fever damaged your brain. You can’t do the job you did before.”

Tony looked away momentarily, then back at Gibbs. “I could work very hard. I could really try. Wouldn’t that do?”

At this point, Gibbs’ heart did break. He gulped but couldn’t go on with anything coherent. “Tony . . . I . . . “

“No, it wouldn’t do,” Tony answered for Gibbs. “I guess it’s not your fault. I can’t do my job because my brain is damaged.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. These things just happen sometimes,” Gibbs choked out. But he was thinking something entirely different. He was thinking ‘Yes, it is your fault. You and your damned second-generation pig-headedness. This crap you picked up from your father and God-knows how many ancestors before the two of you. You should have been ME soon. You should have surpassed me, damn you.’

Gibbs forced himself to composure. He opened the file folder and extracted a pen from his inside pocket.

“There are papers to be signed, Tony. Nobody’s forcing you, you understand, but your father and I think it would be a good idea.” He pushed legal-sized pages towards Tony. 

Tony glanced at them and waited, still patiently, for Gibbs to explain.

“These are for two things to happen. One– this gives your dad medical proxy. Just in case. We’re not expecting anything to happen to you, but everybody should have one of these.”

“Do you?” Tony asked, wide eyed.

“I’m going to, soon. I’m going to be seeing my lawyer about it,” Gibbs said, having had no such intention until that moment, but vowing to make the promise good at the earliest opportunity.

Tony reached his hand out. Gibb’s wasn’t sure at first what Tony wanted, then supposed it was the pen. He pushed it towards Tony. Tony took the pen into his hand. Gibbs flipped the first document to the signature page the lawyer had marked and pointed to a post-it note stuck on.

“Sign here, Tony.”

Tony did not hesitate but lay the pen against the paper. Then, laboriously, he inscribed his name.

“Two – this gives ME power of attorney over your financial affairs. It doesn’t have to be permanent. You can take over later if you feel ready.”

I had been a surprise to Gibbs, given what he knew about Senior’s finances, or rather lack thereof, that Senior had agreed to let Gibbs take over Tony’s money. Perhaps the father didn’t trust himself, or perhaps he simply hadn’t the nerve to admit to himself that his son could be disabled. Whatever the reason, Gibbs was satisfied with the arrangement he and Tony’s father had made: that Senior would take care of Tony physically and Gibbs himself would look after the finances. Tony would have a disability pension from the Navy as well as the salary he would continue to draw at his new post. He would not have the income of a special agent, but he could live almost in the manner to which he was accustomed. It was something to be thankful for in this nightmarish situation.

“Do you have one of these?”

“Financial power of attorney. No, I have to admit I don’t, Tony.”

Tony’s gaze was intent and his expression calm as Gibbs located the second signature page and once again Tony slowly spelled out his name. Then Tony looked up. “I’m sorry that took so long. Brain damage, I guess.”

Not for many years had Gibbs been so close to tears. 

*********************** 

The office was quieter without Tony, no question of that. But the agents were adapting, as agents always do upon the loss of one of their own. This was certainly different, though. Tony was lost to them in one way, but available in another. As the group lunch day approached Gibbs sensed the unease among his people, but decided not to address it. Let it unfold as it is meant to, he decided.

That day he instructed Caitlin, Abby, Ducky and Tim to wait for him at the restaurant – a pizzeria they often went to together – while he went to pick up Tony at the building where he was working.

Gibbs pulled up outside the front door of the building, looking out for Tony. But Di Nozzo wasn’t there. With an inward curse, Gibbs pondered whether he would have to lose time (and money) parking in the enormous parking lot of the building and go inside to hunt for the missing man. Finally he decided to pull rank. Opening his car window, he waved to a passing sailor, brandished his badge and sent the sailor inside to look for Tony in the lunch room. He gave the sailor Tony’s name and sufficient description, then waited. When any other attendant tried to wave him away from the no-parking zone, he again flashed his badge.

At length, Tony emerged from the building. Following him, Gibbs noted, with some amusement, was the sailor whom he had sent inside. She was hurrying after Tony, talking to Tony’s back and gesturing (futilely, since Tony’s back was to her) towards Gibbs’ car. Some things never change, Gibbs mused. Despite being clad in a poorly fitting custodian’s uniform, Tony left admiring looks of sailors, officers and civilians of both genders in his wake.

Gibbs lowered the window at the passenger’s side and Tony leaned in. “I’m sorry, Jethro. Please tell the gang I can’t make it.” The two had been on a first name basis at Gibbs’ insistence, since Gibbs visited the Di Nozzo’s, senior and junior, quite often. The visits were less painful than Gibbs had originally expected them to be since the senior Di Nozzo was quite voluable, making conversation enough for the three of them. Gibbs would wish that Tony had more to say, but also knew the young man shouldn’t be rushed.

“Get in, Di Nozzo. No excuses,” Gibbs said. 

Tony did not get in. He leaned further inside the window and said. “Please, just make my apologies. I don’t want to go.”

Gibbs noted the plaintive tone and did not insist. “Fine, but let’s have a bite ourselves anyway. You still gotta eat.”

“I didn’t bring my wallet. It’s upstairs in my locker,” Tony said, spread his hands to demonstrate this lack.

At least he’s not sharp enough to have thought up a better excuse. Like, that he’s already eaten, Gibbs thought. “My treat,” he said aloud. 

Tony climbed into the shotgun seat and Gibbs drove off. Gibbs pulled his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Tony. “I’ll assume you also left your phone in your locker. Call Duck and tell him change of plans. Everyone should go ahead and eat without us.”

Tony first cleared his throat. Then, with his characteristic squint of his left eye at the screen of the cell phone, he dialed, spoke to Ducky briefly as instructed, hung up and handed the phone back to Gibbs.

While Tony was calling, a series of thoughts dashed through Gibbs’ mind. I don’t remember him being self-conscious before. Is he getting smarter, or just more sensitive to his own situation?

“Ducky sounds relieved,” Tony said.

Gibb’s glanced sideways as he accepted the phone and pocketed it. “Sound to me like he sounded disappointed. And I distinctly heard groans in the background.”

“I didn’t hear those things,” Tony said, with a tone of finality that actually satisfied Gibbs. As much as he wanted to talk to Tony he also did not want to talk – which was the usual case for him. Why people should need to talk so much was somewhat of a mystery to Gibbs. But he had grown to accept it as part of life. And Tony was a talker. Not today, not lately, but hopefully it would come back to him.

Gibbs turned into the nearest fast food outlet. Once they had placed and received their order, he pulled into a parking space and braced himself for the inevitable talking to come.

He began. “Tony, I do know that everyone wanted to spend time with you today.”

Tony took a bite of his burger before answering. “You may think so, but I know they didn’t. They say that to you because you do visit me and they do meet me every now and then. The girls meet me for coffee. Tim for a beer. Ducky invites me to see his mum. They do it, Jethro, but I know they don’t enjoy it.”

“Oh?” Gibbs was glad to thus get the younger man talking without needing more than a simple syllable. Tony was off on a speech longer than Gibbs had heard him deliver, since the onset of the fever. The sign of normality was heartening, but Gibbs steeled himself against too much optimism.

Tony went on. “There’s no need to prolong the agony. I know it. I really do. I may be brain damaged but I DO see it. It’s like that movie, Charly. Cliff Robertson, Claire Bloom. Way back in ’68. Critics panned it but, oh gosh, it had some moments. Ever seen it?”

Gibbs was able to get away with shaking his head, although he was lying. He had seen the movie and read the novel on which it was based ‘Flowers for Algernon’ and been affected by both. But the lie would suffice. Tony needed to work something out by telling the story, so Gibbs added, “What’s it about?”

Tony continued his recitation. “Cliff Robertson. Remember him? Probably not. Anyway he’s a . . . well . . . a man who is brain damaged. But in his case it is since he was a baby. IQ of 69. Movie made in ‘68. Maybe that means something.”

Tony paused to chew a few fries, then went back on track. “So there’s this group of neurosurgeons who come up with a procedure to increase intelligence. They use Cliff Robertson – Charly – as a guinea pig. The surgery works. He turns into a genius. Then one day he learns that there is a problem with the experiment and he is going to turns back the way he was before. The love interest – Claire Bloom – I’d do her in a heartbeat, Jethro, if I had been alive in ’68. . . “

Gibbs chuckled softly at this aside, but did not interrupt.

“She falls in love with him while he is becoming a genius, and then gets to watch him deteriorate again. The end is . . . heartbreaking . . . actually. Spoiler alert. He melts down finally into this child-like state and she just watches with pity. Don’t ever watch that movie, Jethro. I used to like it, but I couldn’t watch it now.”

Tony ate for a little longer and, as Gibbs expected him to, picked up his monologue.

“There’s this scene. The researchers have this white mouse called Algernon. Charly –Cliff Robertson - identifies with it. Then, they’re all in the middle of this symposium, showing off what a genius Charly is and that’s when Cliff Robertson hits them all with a shocker. He pulls the dead body of the mouse out of his pocket to show everybody that the experiment is doomed to failure. It’s all downhill from there.”

The tone of misery in Tony’s voice prompted Gibbs to speak, finally.

“I remember it differently,” Gibbs said.

“You said you didn’t see it.”

“I lied,” said Gibbs. “You’re missing something important about the dead mouse scene.”

Tony glared at him, with a look that Gibbs had never seen on his face before. Tony had given him poisonous looks before, but always tinged with some level of deference. It was an oddly paradoxical expression Tony was able to pull off. Today, there was no deference. Just pure poison. 

Gibbs was determined to ride it out. “You missed it way back when you saw the movie, even before the fever, Tony. What does Charly do after he finds Algernon dead? First he gets depressed and acts out. Gets a motorcycle if I remember. But then, he comes back and helps the neuroscientists with their research.”

“And they fail,” Tony pointed out. 

“True. But he puts them years ahead in their research. He discovers the basic flaw in their theory – such as it is – that they might never have found themselves. It’s kind of heroic, if you think about it.”

“I don’t think anymore,” Tony groused.

“Then think about this. The book’s better than the movie. Books usually are. At the end of the book, Charly recognizes that he will soon be far less intelligent than he was, even before the surgery. So he sacrifices himself for the woman he loves. He decides to move into a state residential facility so that Claire Bloom won’t have to see him anymore. It’s a little misguided. Had it been written today, maybe the end would have been that she stood by him. Point is: Charly has learned to do something he couldn’t before, even as he becomes less intelligent than he was before. He learns to put another person before himself.”

Tony became thoughtful. Then he mimicked Forrest Gump. “I may not be a smart man but I know what love is.” He considered some more. “You know, that’s more than a little insulting, saying I never knew how to think about others.”

He’s definitely changing back, Gibbs thought. Is it sudden or has it been so gradual that I’ve been missing it?

Aloud, he said, “You always knew. Maybe lately you forgot. Your friends want to help you. They may not know the right way. They may get it wrong. You could cut them some slack.”

“I’ll think about it,” Tony said, turning to look out the car window.

“Good,” said Gibbs, “And I’ve had more talking in the last half hour than I can stand. I may just throw up.”

“Do it out the car window,” said Tony, not turning around, “I have to pay for the cleaning of this God-awful uniform.”

“Must be by payroll deduction. I haven’t seen any bills for cleaning come through your bank,” Gibbs said.

“Must be. You should get me back to work now, Jethro.”

************* 

What with various cases, it was some months before everyone was in town at the same time to try another get-together with Tony. Nor had Gibbs had a chance to visit the Di Nozzo household since that last lunch with Tony. Gibbs, Abby, Ducky, Tim and Caitlin waited at the restaurant for Tony to show up. He had declined any offer of a lift..

When he finally saw Tony pick his way across the crowded lunchtime venue, Gibbs noted that he was wearing a shirt and tie. It was a distinct improvement over the ‘God-awful uniform’. 

“You had a chance to change first,” he observed, as Tony stood briefly to look around the table, as though taking inventory of the friends gathered there, then sank into a chair.

Tony said. “No more uniform. I’m in the mail room now. No more swabbin’ the decks.”

“That’s fine, Anthony, if that is what you prefer,” said Ducky, politely but tentatively. 

“It’s a promotion, Ducky. No limit to what a brain damaged man can do in America.” 

Gibbs was impressed that Tony had managed to at once address and then deflate the elephant in the room.

“I’ll be Monarch of the Sea; the ruler of the Queen’s Nay-vee, in no time at this rate.”

Ducky was clearly pleased. “I had no idea you liked Gilbert and Sullivan, Anthony.”

“I hate Gilbert and Sullivan. They made us put it on in boarding school. At least I’m a tenor. Would have hated to be a baritone. Can’t abide patter songs.”

“I was a baritone in my day,” Ducky said, under his breath. “I could get through a pretty mean Model Major General, if I do say so myself.”

Caitlin cut in. “We went ahead and ordered for you, Tony.” Then she squirmed in embarrassment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest anything. Just short of time. You still hate mushrooms, I hope?

“No big,” Tony said, good-naturedly. “I do still remember that a mushroom is a fungus. No self-respecting human should have to ingest one. Wholly disgusting.” Tony lifted a piece of fried mozzarella from a plate in front of him.

“Whereas fermented bovine secretions are . . . “ Tim began, then broke off, looking to one side and pursing his lips.

“Not fungus,” Tony replied and swallowed the mozzarella stick whole, “And I do remember what a secretion is. In more than one sense.” With this he winked at Tim.

“Can’t argue that,” said Abby, albeit a little tentatively.

He’s getting himself back, Gibbs thought, but he’s laying it on too thick. Gotta turn him around before he goes too far. Gibbs rose from his chair and said. “Tony, meet me in the head.”

“A nautical term,” Tony said. And then with a smirk he said, “Do excuse us. Ladies. Gentlemen.”

Once they were around a bend in the wall and out of everyone else’s sight, Gibbs smacked Tony upside the head. Quite hard.

Tony protested. “You don’t get to do that anymore.”

“You’re getting your brains back, Di Nozzo. I’m glad for you.” But Gibbs definitely did not sound glad.

“Not if you smack me around like that. Jesus, Jethro!”

“You call me ‘Boss’ from now on, if you want back on the team.”

Tony’s expression was immediately chastened. “I do want back on the team. I mean, one of these days. I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“Damned right you’re not ready. Remember we talked about how you are going to treat your friends from now on?”

“Boss, that was before. How will they know I’m me, if I’m not rude?” Tony’s expression was downright sulky.

“So, you didn’t learn anything from the last few months. You were a better thinker when you had to try harder at it, Di Nozzo.” Gibbs turned from him marched back towards the table.

“Boss, please,” Tony called after Gibbs, but Gibbs was already gone.

The friends noticed that Tony was quiet for the rest of the meal. When addressed he answered politely. They caught him stealing looks at Gibbs every now and again. When Tony wasn’t looking, they inclined their heads towards him and exchanged meaningful looks with each other. The mood of the party changed yet again and no one was happy anymore.

When the bills came, each team member was handed his or her own by Gibbs. Going Dutch was the custom, when they were not on expense accounts. When the cheques were all distributed, Tony was left empty handed.

“Um . . .” he began.

Once again, the mood changed. There was a chorus of good natured hooting. 

“Your money’s no good here, Tony,” Abby chimed in.

“Although,” said Ducky, “a man with the exalted rank of tenor might want to be a little gracious with his thanks.” He paused for effect.

It astounded Gibbs how quickly the mood of the party could turn, and how often. He waited to see how Tony would react.

Tony rose from his chair and approached Ducky. He took the old man by the shoulders.

“Truth is, I was always jealous of the baritones. I never had the pipes to pull off a patter song. I was out of line before.”

Ducky softened immediately. The men embraced.

Tony turned to face the group, who were watching in amazement – all but Gibbs who was watching with admiration. Go for broke, Tony, he was thinking. Make me proud, son.

“I’d like to get this party, if everybody doesn’t mind. A little token, not worth much really. Just symbolic. To thank you all for being such good friends. That is . . . “ here he turned towards Gibbs . . . “if my financial advisor will permit?”

An inclination of his head allowed Gibbs to give his approval without words.

END


End file.
